Always hijacked: A poem 

I live in a tunic whereupon my wounds bleed 

Their mouths are wide and loud. Does God heed? 

But in such agony, I don’t beg in hours of need 

My cries are silent; resilience will always lead 

I swear I can be nobody’s child, to put it mild 

You may not be mine, but could always be mine 

This, my ambivalence, keeps dancing in the wild 

that stoicism is a charm that is never riled 

There’s so much earth and fire, like a choir 

giving me much grace in consequences dire 

Even if love is a travail that goes down to the wire 

and the thaw boils and cools endlessly, I don’t tire 

I keep dignity; gritty are the leaves in my cup of tea 

even as the future seems a kettle with brine from hell and sea 

I realised long ago that my rafters are perennially packed 

with my hard-earned victories, that are always hijacked